Chapter 8
eight
. . .
RORY
I hated having to rush off to practice and leave Summer, but the second I finish my last set, I head for the locker room to quickly shower and change.
Summer.
Throughout practice, her name had been a chant in my head.
I like calling her Wildflower, but Summer suits her perfectly.
When I text Winnie to ask about Summer, she tells me she dropped her off at The Salty Pirate Café a few hours ago. It might be a long shot, but since I’ve got nothing else to go on, it’s where I’m going to start.
That’s how I find myself outside the blue wooden building that houses one of Coral Cove’s most iconic restaurants. I pull open the door to find the dinner crowd already in full swing. The protein shake I grabbed on my way out of the aquatic center was enough to hold me over, but the smell of fresh fish is enticing and after Coach put us through a rigorous workout, I could stuff my face right now.
“Hey, Rory. You need a table?” Mae asks from the host stand upon my approach.
It’s a small town, and there are perks to being known. Like getting a table at the most popular restaurant during the dinner rush.
“Hi, Mae. I’m looking for someone.” I glance toward the dining area. “Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Freckle under her left eye and a small scar on her chin.” Mae blinks at me, and I realize I should find less obsessive ways to describe Summer’s face. “She looks like an angel, but is feisty as hell. I think she was here earlier so she might have already left.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a swish of a blonde ponytail.
Summer.
“Found her.” I point in Summer’s direction.
“Oh, Summer.” She nods, then glances down at the map of tables. “She’s working out on the patio this evening. Would you like to sit in her section?”
That’s when I see the plates in her hands. The heavy ceramic pottery-style plates full of crab cakes, shrimp and grits, beef brisket, and my favorite, seafood pot pie.
The realization hits. Summer’s a waitress here.
But her wrist is hurt and Winnie had told her to rest it.
My left knee would tell you I’m not always one for following my athletic trainer’s orders but eventually injury catches up to you if you don’t take care of yourself.
My stomach growls at the sight of that seafood pot pie. But I ignore the bottomless pit that is my stomach, pulling my attention from the delicious food back to Summer and her arms full of plates. She makes her way through the sea of tables, sidestepping to let a patron pass. A tight smile on her face, I can see her fingers gripping the plate tighter and the wince that follows.
I catch up with her just before she reaches the door to the patio.
“Summer,” I call, “what are you doing?” Realizing as the question leaves my mouth that it’s not the most intelligent. It’s obvious what she’s doing.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m working.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be.” I grab the two plates weighing down her injured wrist.
“What the hell?” she hisses, reaching for the plates. “Give me back the plates. I need to serve this table.”
“So, lead the way.” I motion with the plates in my hands for her to lead me to the table, but she doesn’t move.
Her eyes flare with annoyance. I can see that she doesn’t like my approach, but I can’t sit back and watch her work in pain.
“Rory. Give me the plates.”
“Nope. Winnie said rest and ice.”
“And I can’t afford to not work.”
I glance around, beneath the glow of the hanging patio lights, the tables are filled with hungry patrons waiting for their food. The line out the door will keep Summer and the rest of the staff busy for hours. I can only imagine how her wrist will feel after a long shift of hauling these heavy plates. It won’t be good. She needs to rest it so she can get better.
“I’ll help you then.”
Emotion flickers behind Summer’s eyes but she pulls her gaze away and shakes her head.
“I don’t need your help. Now, give me back those plates. The food is getting cold.”
I step back, to keep them out of her reach.
“Then we should get going.” Again, I motion for her to lead the way.
“Rory, seriously. People are staring.”
She’s right. Our little tiff in the middle of the dining room is drawing attention from the tables around us. But I’m used to being interviewed on national television dripping wet and only wearing a jammer so their stares don’t bother me.
“So?”
“So, I don’t need you making a scene. This is where I work. I don’t need my boss thinking I can’t do my job.”
She’s so pretty when she’s annoyed with me. I’m beginning to realize she’s gorgeous all the time but especially when those blue eyes flare with annoyance and her upper lip curls with exasperation.
Beneath the zipper of my chino shorts, my cock stirs. Is that a kink? I never realized a woman being thoroughly annoyed with me could be a turn on.
My ex, Daphne, had a tendency to be annoyed with me, but with Summer, it’s different. It’s playful.
Summer sighs, giving up the fight for the plates for a moment to massage her hurt wrist through the brace.
“When’s the last time you took an ibuprofen?” I ask.
“I haven’t taken anything since the trainer’s office. Now can I?—"
“Rory Shields, is that you?” I turn around to find Alice, one of the owners of The Salty Pirate Café, headed our way. “It is you. I heard you were back in town for training.”
She wraps her thick arms around my waist and gives me a squeeze.
“Hey, Alice. It’s good to see you.” I throw her a friendly smile before awkwardly attempting to hug her back without dropping the plates I’m still holding. “Got back yesterday.”
“And you’re just now stopping by?” She pouts.
“I had to unpack and practice has kept me busy.”
She waves me off. “I’m just kidding. But it’s great to see you.” She glances at the plates in my hands, then to Summer who’s still holding her wrist.
“What happened to your wrist?” Alice asks, concern passing over her features.
“Skateboarding accident,” Summer says.
Alice shakes her head in dismay. “How many times have I said that thing makes me nervous for you?”
Summer shoots me a glare. “Yeah, it is dangerous. People should really know what they’re doing before they jump on one all willy nilly.”
“Willy nilly?” I chuckle, delighting in the sound of the nonsensical phrase.
“You heard me.”
Alice ignores our back and forth in favor of examining Summer’s wrist.
“Oh, goodness. Well, are you able to finish your shift? If you need to rest, surely, we can cover you.”
Even with Alice’s offer to cover Summer’s shift, I know that’s not what Summer wants. She won’t get paid if she goes home. After the mermaid cosplay debacle and now her insistence to work, it’s obvious she needs the money.
“No. I’m fi—” Summer starts, but I quickly cut in.
“That’s why I’m here. To help. If you and Summer will allow me.”
I glance toward the patio where multiple people have their phones up, taking pictures, possibly even recording this moment. Alice follows my gaze.
“And how do you two know each other?” Alice asks, curiosity spilling over her features.
“We don’t,” Summer is quick to announce.
“Not exactly true.” I give Summer my best charming smile. “We met the other night. And again, today.”
Alice’s eyes widen. “O-oh, I see,” she stammers, her cheeks blushing a deep crimson.
Summer’s eyes bulge like she’s hoping her pupils will reach out and strangle me.
Did that sound like I was implying Summer and I hooked up?
“She was cosplaying as a mermaid at a children’s birthday party. I helped her out of her mermaid tail.”
I don’t think that’s any better. Oops.
“Uh-huh.” Alice’s conspiratorial smile makes me think she doesn’t believe me. “Serving and busing only, Summer will still need to take orders.”
Then, she walks off, fanning herself with an order pad.
I turn to Summer again to apologize, but she’s already walking away, so I follow in her wake.
He’s so hot.
Dude’s stacked. I wonder how many calories he eats in a day.
I bet his swimmers are good swimmers, if you know what I mean.
Does he work here now?
Some not so quietly.
“Rory Shields, will you marry me?!” is shouted from a table of women in the corner enjoying what appears to be a ladies’ dinner.
“You’re already engaged,” her friend announces loudly.
“I know but he’s one of my hall passes. Warren wouldn’t mind.”
I offer a practiced smile as I pass. Being “on” in public is second nature. My parents drilled that into me early.
Smile. Be charming. Be perfect. But tonight, I don’t want perfect. I just want to help Summer.
“I apologize for the wait,” Summer says when she reaches the table whose food I’ve been holding hostage.
The table of three is a woman in her mid-forties and her two teenage sons. “I think this special delivery is worth the wait.”
Summer directs the dishes in my hands to each person, then picks up the water carafe to fill up their water glasses. I’ll have to add refilling water glasses to my list of duties.
“Can I get you anything else right now?” Summer asks.
“Do you mind terribly if we get a picture with you?” The woman directs her question to me, beaming flirtatiously, while her sons attempt to hide behind their phones.
“Not at all.”
The woman hands Summer her phone, while I get into position in the middle of the group. Right when Summer snaps the photo, the woman drops her hand and squeezes my ass.
Summer hands the phone back and abruptly leaves the table.
“Enjoy your food. We’ll check back soon,” I offer before departing to follow Summer through the dining area, and through the kitchen doors.
“Who the hell—” the man behind the cook station starts to bellow, but he stops midsentence. “Rory.” He claps me on the back. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”
“Hey, Mick. I’m helping Summer out.”
“Just for today,” Summer quickly chimes in. “And he’s only carrying plates.” She holds up her wrist.
“Did you fall off that skateboard?” Mick asks. “I keep telling her it’s a dangerous form of transportation.”
Summer holds my gaze, her brows lifting in question. You going to tell him, or am I?
But behind us a pink-haired waitress clears her throat, shifting the group’s attention, allowing me to dodge that question.
Summer turns in her direction. “Oh, yeah. Rory, this is Darcy. Darcy, Rory.”
“I heard you saved our girl from a shark.”
Summer groans. “There was no shark. How does this story keep getting twisted?”
“Because it sounds cooler with a shark.” Darcy’s pink ponytail swishes as she tilts her head to inspect me. “Nice to finally put a face to the name, Rory Shields.”
“Has she been talking about me?” I wink in Summer’s direction, catching a glimpse of the outrage on her face before returning to my conversation with Darcy.
“Nonstop. Can’t get a word in.”
“Order up!” Mick calls.
Darcy grabs the plates from the counter. “Gotta run.”
When my eyes land back on Summer, she’s glaring at me.
“I can’t believe you showed up here.”
“How else was I supposed to contact you? I don’t have your phone number or address. Winnie wouldn’t give it to me. You know, HIPAA laws and all that.”
“Did you ever think there’s a reason you don’t have that information?”
“Because you didn’t have a chance to give it to me?” I offer half-jokingly, knowing it’s not the case when the woman wouldn’t even tell me her name.
“You could carry plates tonight, but I know a thing or two about injuries and if you don’t take care to rest them, they get worse or flare up when you don’t have help. So, if you let me help you tonight, I won’t bother you about it again.”
She contemplates this for a moment, before relenting. “Fine.”
Over the next few hours, Summer lets me be her shadow around the restaurant. Carrying plates, busing tables, and often, talking with the patrons.
“You’re too nice to people.” She comments.
“Says the woman whose job relies on customer service skills.”
She sticks out her tongue at me.
“Next time someone takes too long to order, be sure to do that,” I tease.
Later, when the restaurant is near closing time, I take a few minutes to talk with a group who is vacationing for a family reunion before busing their table.
“What was all that?” Summer points back in the direction of the patio where I just finished signing autographs and taking a few photos.
“What? I was helping you out. Giving the people what they wanted.”
“This is a restaurant. Not a meet and greet with Rory Shields.”
I shrug. “I thought it would help with tips. I’ve been charming all night. Not to mention the number of times women have stroked my arms and patted my chest. One even grabbed my ass. Please tell me those tips reflect the ass grabbing.”
“Rory, seriously? Why didn’t you say something? Nobody should be grabbing your ass.”
“It’s part of the gig.”
A line forms between her brows. “Of being a waiter?”
“A public figure.”
“That doesn’t mean people are allowed to touch you inappropriately.”
I like the way her nose twitches and her jaw pops. Like she’s upset on my behalf. I’ve never seen anything like it. Daphne was always game for however my popularity could benefit her. She would have encouraged groping if it meant she made connections with the right people.
I drop into the seat beside her. “So how were tips tonight?”
“Good,” she confirms, producing a large quantity of bills from her apron pocket.
“Good? Or great?” I wiggle my brows in jest as she counts the cash.
She shakes her head at my teasing, but once she’s done, a small, satisfied smile pulls at her lips.
“Fine. You’re right. Your charm and willingness to please every customer paid off.”
“I knew it would.”
“Here.” She extends a wad of bills out to me.
“No.” I wave her off. “That’s all yours.”
“You just worked six hours. It can’t be for nothing.”
Six hours? Being in Summer’s orbit, the time had flown by.
“It wasn’t for nothing, Wildflower. I did it for you.”
Our gazes lock. For a moment, there’s a flicker of vulnerability behind Summer’s eyes, but as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone.
“Because of my wrist.”
Technically, she’s right. But in this moment, I’m realizing her hurt wrist was my excuse to help her, not my only reason.
There’s something about Summer that has me intrigued, wanting to know more. I’ve spent my life around many different types of people and have gotten pretty good at reading them. There’s a difference between someone who genuinely wants distance and someone who is putting up walls to protect themselves. So, while Summer seems prickly and guarded, in our few interactions, I’ve seen glimpses of another side of her.
Like her interactions with customers. Though she’s not bubbly or overly friendly, she does care about doing her job well. She appears casual, but holds herself with a certain elegance that is captivating.
I could walk out of this restaurant right now and she’d probably breathe a sigh of relief. With her asthma, that would be for the best.
Maybe I should leave her alone, but I can’t .
That’s the oddest part of this.
So, my body stays rooted here for reasons my brain doesn’t yet know why.
Suddenly, I get an idea.
“Here.” I pull my wallet out to hand her five one-hundred-dollar bills. “This is from Rich Lancaster. He forgot to give it to you the other day after all the commotion at the party.”
She stares at the money extended out to her.
“That’s not from Rich.”
"Yeah, it is,” I say confidently, even though the look she’s giving me tells me she’s already sniffed out my ploy.
She eyes the money, then me. “The job was going to pay three hundred dollars, not five hundred.”
“Because of what happened, he wanted to give you a generous tip.”
“That’s interesting. Rich already sent me payment this morning and it was two hundred dollars. He said he couldn’t pay me for the full time because I left early.” Her lips quirk to the side. “Nice try.”
Damn it.
Short of secretly putting the cash into her apron pocket when she’s not looking, I have no recourse but to tuck it back in my wallet.
Summer shoves her tip money into her apron and stands. “You want to grab some food?”
I stand to join her. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“No, I’m asking if you want to get food from the kitchen and eat it here at the same table as me. It’s not a date.”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer, but starts walking back toward the kitchen, so I follow, because fuck yeah, I want to eat. I’m always hungry, but more than that, I want to keep hanging out with her. I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never experienced. But then I remember her comments from earlier on the beach.
“Do you think your boyfriend would mind?” I ask.
“My who—” her brows draw down in confusion before suddenly lifting, “oh, Edgar. That’s right.”
“Yeah, Edgar.” I stretch my neck from side to side like I’m warming up for a fight. “Is he a big guy?”
She shakes her head. “Edgar isn’t the jealous type.”
“Hmm. I’d be jealous if you were my girlfriend and eating dinner with another guy.”
“Well, good thing I’m not.” She motions to the kitchen again. “You want dinner or not?”
“Only if I can drive you home after.”
“How is that a condition for dinner? I’m offering dinner, you can’t pile on another request.”
“Can’t I?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s…demanding.”
“I’d call it persistent.”
“Call it what you want, it’s still annoying.”
“You don’t look annoyed.”
“Maybe I’m too tired to look annoyed. It’s been a long day and I’m hungry and drained. Edgar would understand.”
“It’s a good thing you’re dating Edgar and not me.”
I fucking hate Edgar.
“Yeah, it is.”
She hands me a plate that Mick has dished up. It’s a sampler platter of all the café’s best dishes.
When I hold it under my nose, my mouth salivates. “Mick, this looks phenomenal. Thank you.”
“I know how much you guys can eat, so there’s more where that came from.”
Summer and I sit at a table across from one another. Besides the fish and hushpuppies, her plate is loaded with pickles.
“I see you like pickles,” I comment on the three dill spears next to her hushpuppies.
“Summer loves pickles,” Darcy offers, setting her plate down and sliding in next to Summer in the booth.
“What else does Summer love?” I ask.
“Dogs, the beach, art,” Darcy grins, “oh, and Edgar.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about Edgar.” A tight smile forms on my lips. “He’s a lucky guy.”
Fuck Edgar.